As the dogs went out of hearing toward the east the old hunter lay back and hushed his tongue. He was running the race that he had run many times before.
“Listen, Marse Wash, I hear ’em crossin’ de Providence road, comin’ back. Dey’re drivin’ to kill ole Stinson now. I ’clar’ fo’ de Lawd I never heered dat Joe run lak he’s runnin’ dis night. He’s almos’ flyin’.
“But hush, listen, don’t you hear dat ‘Whoo-ark, whoo-ark, whoo-ark’ in dere? Dat’s Sly, an’ she sho’ is shovin’ dat fox an’ crowdin’ Joe.
“Hear dat? She’s crossin’ de big hill fust.
“Dey’re turnin’! He’s makin’ fur de Big Rock, but he ain’t gut time to make it.
“Listen, Marse Wash, dat Georgy dog’s ’bout to outdo ole Joe! She’s comin’ lak de wind. I don’t hear ole Joe. He won’t bark ef he gits behind. He mus’ be tryin’ to head off dat Sly bitch.
“Look! Yon dey go ’cross de cotton fiel’ an’ Joe an’ Sly is side to side.
“Whoopee, ain’t dey goin’? Ole Joe sho’ is doin’ about, but Sly’s on his heels.